


The Doctor Is In

by gkds2 (zad3)



Series: kinktober 2020 [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Bladder Control, Bondage, Catheters, Episode 177, FOR THE RECORD IM TRANS, Forced Drinking, Gags, Gaslighting, Humiliation, IM GOING TO HELL ITS FINE, Knifeplay, M/M, Medical Torture, Mindfuck, Misgendering, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Omorashi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sort Of, The Spiral, Threats of Castration, Verbal Humiliation, but - Freeform, martin is NOT trans, misnaming, so much gaslighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26752153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zad3/pseuds/gkds2
Summary: a horrifying kinktober fill for the prompts: omorashi and knife play
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Doctor David
Series: kinktober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952665
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38
Collections: Kinktober 2020





	The Doctor Is In

**Author's Note:**

> i am trans, i have medical trauma, and i have gaslighting trauma--BUT IF I DON'T SEXUALIZE MY TRAUMA WHO WILL
> 
> this fic unfortunately contains: general non-con, gaslighting, general mindfuckery, misgendering/misnaming/convincing a person they are a gender different from what they are, medical bondage, gags, caths, omorashi, forced drinking, threatening with a scapel, threats in general, orgasm denial, non-con drugging, humilation, threats of castration
> 
> if this isn't ur steez i get that THAT'S FINE, but please don't comment telling me so I do not care

Dr. David has been there twice so far today, as far as Martin can tell. He’s been trying to keep track of time, using dosages and shift changes to measure the number of hours since he got separated from Jon and Basira, but time is a little bit wobbly here. Jon was standing around the corner when Martin had been grabbed, and the last thing he had seen was Basira smashing one of the orderlies into the ground with a gurney.

Hunt adjacent strength, huh. 

Must be nice, Martin thinks as he pulls against the thick leather straps binding him to the gurney, one at each wrist and ankle, one across his knees, his hips, his chest, his neck, his forehead. It’s brown leather, like in some asylum movie or horrible asylum based haunted house. He’s the closest to immobile he’s ever been, and he understands the terror of the Buried, viscerally, for the first time.

Based on the number of visits he’s had from the doctor he assumes it’s been 3 days, or whatever passes for days here. They’ve forced 8 different kinds of pills down his throat, ones that made his head ache, body ache, his eyesight replaced with spirals of living color, and one that made him so overwhelmingly horny that he was sure he was going to die if he couldn’t jack off, shouting to the nurses and the orderlies and to Dr. David himself that he would do anything to touch his cock.

Dr. David had clicked his tongue, scribbling something on his clipboard. “Yelling obscenities won’t convince me you’re crazy, Mary. Sooner or later you’ll drop the act, and I’ve nowhere else to be.” He’d sat in the chair and stared Martin directly in the eyes and then left him bound until it wore off.

Then they’d given it to him again. And again. And again. 

The first time the doctor visited after dosing him, Martin had been shaking with want, thighs tensing and cock hard and dripping precum onto the brown leather restraint across his hips. 

“Now then, Mary, it’s me, your doctor, Dr. David. How are you feeling?”

Martin had let out a soft, “please,” but the doctor either hadn’t heard him or was choosing to ignore him.

“Mary, if you ever want to leave, that means answering my questions. I ask them for therapeutic reasons, and I have only your best interest in mind.”

“My name is Martin,” Martin spat, still fighting to raise his hips off of the narrow hospital bed. His blood felt too hot in his veins, burning him from the inside out and he just wanted to cum.

Dr. David tsked, walking over and lifting Martin’s cock, holding it gingerly between thumb and pointer finger. “Does this look like a cock to you, Mary? This is clearly too small to be a cock. You’ve been living in your delusion for far too long I f you’ve managed to convince yourself otherwise.” He sounded kind. He sounded kind of like Jon. Martin wanted to be away from him more than anything.

“Fuck you,” he spat, vision swimming as he tried to buck the restraints once more.

“If this is the center of your delusion then why don’t we get rid of the root cause, hmm?” He lifted a scalpel out of the air and pressed it lightly against the base of Martin’s cock, that swelled into the touch like it had no sense of self perseveration. “What do you say Mary?”

“Please no,” Martin choked out, shivers wracking his body. “Please, please don’t. Doctor, doctor ah—”

“David.”

“Yes! Yes, Dr. David. Whatever you think, but that. Whatever you think is best, please, I want to get better. I want to get better, and you’re right it’s not a cock it’s a—a—a—”

“A?” Dr. David prompted.

Martin closed his eyes tightly. “A clit.”

“Good girl, Mary. I’ll make sure you get a sponge bath today from one of the orderlies. You’ve earned it. I’m so proud of your progress. You’re doing so well.”

Martin’s eyes were too filled with tears to see him leave, but that was probably for the best—he was almost certain Dr. David didn’t use the door and he didn’t want anything else to make him think he was actually going crazy.

The doctor always called him Mary, claimed Martin kept forgetting his own name, that he was a girl, and the names were close, weren’t they? They were so similar, and it wasn’t like Martin hadn’t toyed with changing his name in high school, in college—but Martin hadn’t been a girl. He would have remembered that. He could see his cock, hard against his stomach. He had a cock, and that had to mean something, didn’t it? Maybe it didn’t mean anything, maybe Mary had been his given name all along and he’d let himself forget. He did let himself forget things sometimes. How could he be sure of anything here? Maybe Martin didn’t exist. Maybe Jon and Basira were things he made up to try and get over the overwhelming thrum running through his veins to his perpetually hard cock. 

Martin was moaning pathetically the next time the Dr. came by, over-sensitized skin pricking and itching with drying sweat. He was achingly hard and so thirsty his mouth felt like a desert, tongue like asphalt. “Please,” he whimpered, tugging at the too tight restraints. “Please, it’s been hours.”

“Mary,” Dr. David admonished gently. “I’ve been off for days. The weekend Dr. has been visiting you. How long do you think you’ve been here?”

Martin closed his eyes tightly, willing himself not to listen to the doctor. He was draw in by his voice, though, something in it powerful, something in it sounding vaguely like Jon. If his stomach had had anything in it he would have been sick. “Days,” he said, trying to wiggle down enough to rub himself off on the strap across his hips.

He couldn’t move enough, like every time before, and when Dr. David started chucking Martin could feel tears begin to run down his cheeks. “Oh, Mary, Mary, Mary. You silly girl. It’s been weeks. Maybe months, not sure. I’d have to check. And you’re going to stay here until you’ve admitted to all of us that you’re making it all up, aren’t you?”

Martin let out a sob, shaking in his bonds, and wished that Jon would hurry the fuck up already.

“But,” Dr. David said, sweetly. “I’m not here just to be the bad cop. You look a little thirsty. Here, have some water.” He brought out a bottle that seemed too large for him to be able to lift, and began to pour.

Because of the way he was tied down, Martin had no recourse but to swallow and try not to choke. The water splashed all over his face and neck, filling his mouth before he’d fully had a chance to swallow and he choked and gurgled, regretting having had the nerve to feel thirsty. He was going to drown, tied to a bed waiting for an imaginary man to come and save him, and so lost he was apparently hallucinating a cock that was so hard he thought he could pound nails with it.

“Good girl,” Dr. David said. The bottle seemed never ending. Martin could feel it begin to bloat him, distending his stomach around the straps, which had been tight before but now were at risk of slicing him in two as more and more water improbably poured down at him.

Finally, with the discomfort in his belly, his cock got the message to desist its interminable hardness and he nearly cried as the feeling of need bleed out of him, replaced with discomfort, which wasn’t a lot better, but Martin would take whatever improvement he could get. He just had to hold out for Jon. Just a little longer. Just a little longer.

“Now then,” the Dr. said, wheeling in a cart that sat just above Martin’s eye level, and served to cause him such searing anxiety that he could have screamed. “I have a lot of patients, Mary, and I can’t keep an eye just on you. Though, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? All this pretending, Mary, just because you want someone to pay attention to you, isn’t it? Because you want someone concerned for your well being? Well, as my patient, I do care for yours. Which is why I am going to cath you, so you don’t have to worry about needing to urinate while I’m off tending to the rest of my patients. You don’t mind, do you?”

Before Martin could respond, the doctor forced something between his teeth, a gag, pressing it so far that it tickled his tonsils and made him gag, stomach threatening to regurgitate water with every heave and buckled it tightly behind his head. It was massive, prizing apart his jaws with unyielding pressure and his mouth ached.

“Good girl. It can be a little uncomfortable, and I don’t want you distressing the other patients.” He pulled the catheter off the tray, and the tubing was thicker than anything Martin had seen used before when he’d been in the hospital, or when Jon had, or his mother. The doctor slicked it with something and began to guide it into Martin’s cock. He squealed. It felt larger even than it had looked, so big he wasn’t sure his cock would be able to recover, and he struggled again, pulling fruitlessly at his bonds.

Maybe Jon wasn’t real. Jon wouldn’t have let him go through all this, would he?

The doctor made a pleased noise as the catheter was forced, agonizingly, into his bladder, and did something Martin couldn’t see, but felt like sudden intense pressure in his bladder and he started to cry again. His jaw felt on the edge of snapping in two, body pulled so tight and tense that every muscle ached, his stomach felt fit to burst and his cock was alight with burning pain. A drip of urine beaded at the top of the tube, sliding down his cock, before Dr. David squeezed it shut. “Mary, I expect a little more cooperation than that. Soiling yourself—just won’t do. All the same, we both know why you’re here: you need help taking care of yourself. That’s why they gave you to me. I’m your doctor, after all, Dr. David, and if you’re not feeling ready to take responsibility for yourself, I’ll do it for you. Maybe then you’ll learn, hmm?”

Embarrassment blazed hot in his cheeks. He could feel the drop of hot piss sliding down his cock and he thought he might start crying again.

Dr. David looked at the instrument table and then tutted, turning back to Martin with a look of concern that looked so real that despite the agony he felt, he wondered if really Dr. David was trying to help him after all. “Seems I forgot a collection bag. Not a problem. I’ll put a clip on it for now, and bring a bag back next time. Shouldn’t be too long before I make the rounds again. Get you all sorted then.”

The catheter made him feel like he was already pissing, but Martin was glad for the clip, as it kept him from making a mess. He lay there in slowly growing agony, as the pain and bloat in his stomach, slowly moved down to his bladder. The feeling went from tight to urgent to painful to agonizing. His abdomen was tight and his bladder spasmed. His gratefulness quickly receded as he realized all the water forced into him was coalescing in his bladder with no hope of release until Dr. David came back and released him, which could be hours or days or weeks. He tried to free a hand but he was bound too tightly. 

Maybe Dr. David was right. Martin was in his thirties. He should be able to hold his bladder, but he couldn’t manage even that. No wonder he had been put in the care of Dr. David. No wonder he needed to be strapped down and monitored. Maybe she should be better when Dr. David came back. Maybe she should thank him for all the hard work he had been doing for her.

The pain grew white hot before Dr. David returned. His face was unclear as ever, but the clipboard and white coat stood out as he took in the sight of Martin, shaking with pain.

“Hello, Mary, it’s me, your doctor, Dr. David.” He eyed Martin’s abdomen critically. “That looks like it must hurt. Unfortunately for you, I seem to have forgotten a bag again. No matter. Now let’s see.” He reached out and began to palpate the area, putting hard pressure on Martin’s overfilled bladder. Martin could feel his body tense and try to curl in but he was trapped, pinned like a butterfly, and he sobbed. He tried to scream but no sound made it past the gag. “Yes, I imagine you’re in a little discomfort. Very well.”

He released the clamp, keeping the hose between his fingers and holding light pressure. Slowly, piss began to dribble down Martin’s cock, spilling onto his thighs and saturating the bed beneath him. It was so, so slow, and Martin’s bladder still felt tight as a drum when Dr. David replaced the clamp. He wailed, the movement causing him to gag on the rubber filling his mouth. 

Dr. David moved around the hospital bed and released the gag in Martin’s mouth. Mary coughed as it left her mouth and said hoarsely, “Thank you Dr. David, thank you thank you thank you.” Martin’s mouth ached and forming words felt like a herculean task, but Dr. David was looking after him and he needed to thank him, it was only polite. If Mary was going to start taking responsibility for herself, she needed to start now.

“That’s better! Don’t worry, I’ll come by again later, let you empty a little more. Now don’t you want to thank me, like a good girl?”

Martin could see his hard cock in his slacks and tensed his neck, trying to move towards it, but he was stuck tight.

Dr. David laughed, affably. “Not yet, Mary. I think you’re still trying to manipulate me, and we can’t have that. We’ll try again next time. We’ll do another session the next time I come around, see if you’re still making things up about your imaginary friends. What were their names? Josh? Barbara?”

Martin shut his mouth, not rising to the bait.

“Good girl. We’ll help you yet.” He left, leaving Martin still trapped on the hospital bed, half soaked in piss and his bladder still throbbing painfully, but it was all right. Dr. David said he’d help Mary and she knew he would.

Mary knew it.

**Author's Note:**

> if you have requests for me leave them here or if have figured out who i am based on my user name you can message me on tumblr, muah


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